


The Aftermath

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Lavender_and_Vanilla Explains It All or Fanfiction Fixes Everything [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Greg, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Family Secrets, Greg is a Saint, M/M, Mycroft Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Same goes for relationships.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less and a cleaner, better stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.”  
> \--Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, His Last Bow

Greg was a whirlwind of emotions--anger, fear, relief, sadness, then back to anger. He murmured under his breath as he raced back to London. “He’s not as strong as he thinks he is. No shit.” Greg muttered to himself. “Make sure he’s looked after. What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing all these years?” Greg took deep breaths to keep calm as he negotiated the increased traffic closer in to the city and found his way to the private clinic where Mycroft had been taken.

Greg knew his partner had more secrets than the Grand Poobah of the Freemasons (if there was such a thing), but this really took the biscuit. A sister? A Psychotic sister? Greg ground his teeth and let out a small shout of frustration. How could Mycroft keep this from him? Okay, he knew how. Why would Mycroft keep this from him? Well, on further thought he probably could figure out why. But he thought they trusted each other. He had believed there were no more secrets between them. Greg decided not to think about it any more. He needed to concentrate on the directions to the clinic.

On arrival Greg was taken directly back and was grateful he wasn’t given any more time to brood on Mycroft’s lies. The clinic was in an old row house. The halls were Spartan with polished wood floors and brass sconces on the walls. Modern equipment was present all around and it gave the whole place a vaguely steam-punk atmosphere.

The nurse knocked on a door, but did not wait for an invitation to enter. Mycroft was sitting on the edge of an exam table, re-buttoning his shirt. He looked up, eyes widening as he saw Greg come into the room.

“The doctor is finishing your paper work. You should be ready to leave shortly, Mr. Holmes. Detective Inspector Lestrade said he would be taking you home.” Mycroft nodded and thanked the nurse as she left, leaving the two men alone.

Silence followed the closing of the door. Mycroft went back to re-dressing. Greg cleared his throat, nervously. “You okay?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. I have been given a clean bill of health.” He continued to fasten buttons, but his long elegant fingers fumbled and shook. He stood to tuck in his shirt and adjust his braces. He never quite looked at Greg, who stood by quietly watching his partner reassemble his armor. It was obvious to him Mycroft was anxious and upset. “How was your conference?” Mycroft’s attempt at polite small talk was half hearted at best. He fished his cufflinks from his trouser pocket and one fell to the floor landing at Greg’s feet.

Seeing Mycroft so shaken made Greg’s heart ache despite his fury. “I’ll get it,” Greg offered quickly and bent, knees popping, to retrieve the bit of gold. He stepped up to the other man and gently took his wrist. “Here let me.” Fastening first one then the other cuff. Greg gave each hand a little squeeze. “There you go love.” Mycroft’s breath caught and he finally looked into Greg’s eyes. “What is it, My?” Greg asked.

“I did not think I would hear you use that endearment again.” There was desolation in his voice. “I was sure I would die.” Greg swallowed and gripped Mycroft’s hands in his own, pulling them to his chest. “When it became apparent I would live, I was sure you wouldn’t want to see me again. Much less call me ‘love’.”

Greg kissed the knuckles of the hands he held. “Make no mistake,” he growled. “I am angry, but I am also relieved and grateful you are safe and well.”

Mycroft leaned his forehead against his partner’s forehead. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

“You know, I thought the only thing I had to worry about was you having drinks with Lady Smallwood.” That drew a faint snicker from the younger man.

“You should never worry about that.” Mycroft stood up straight and withdrew his hands, reaching for his waistcoat that lay on the exam table.

Greg walked over to the lone chair and gathered Mycroft’s jacket. “Do I have to worry about any more secret siblings?”

“No.” Mycroft answered softly. He began to button his waistcoat; his hands more steady.

“Closet cousins?” Greg’s query held a teasing note.

“No.”

“Neglected nieces or nephews?”

“Good lord.” Mycroft looked upward seeking divine intervention.

“How about abandoned aunts?” The teasing started to take an edge.

“No.” Mycroft took his coat, giving Greg a sharp look.

“Or any undiscovered uncles?”

“Gregory…” Mycroft shrugged his jacket on.

“Just trying to cover all the bases.” Greg’s cheeky tone had become brittle.

Mycroft exhaled sharply. “If you prefer, I’ll go to my office for the rest of the night. I can have a car sent over.”

“No, I… “ Greg hesitated. “I don’t want that.”

“Then what do you want?” Mycroft snapped.

“I want to believe you!” Greg snapped back. Silence so thick, like the proverbial London fog, descended. Greg ran a hand through his hair. Mycroft took his tie out of his pocket and refolded it.

“For what it is worth, I’ve never lied directly to you,” Mycroft said quietly after a long moment went by.

“I know,” sighed the older man.

There was a sharp knock at the door, followed by the entrance of the nurse. She smiled at the two men. Mycroft turned his back and Greg gave her an apologetic look. A little confused she spoke to Greg, her eyes darting to Mycroft.

“Here are the papers. The doctor included signs to watch for. If you,” she looked over at Mycroft, who was tying his tie. “Experience any of these, please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you.” Greg brought her attention back to him and he took the papers.

“Oh, and these were dispensed as well.” She drew a packet from her pocket. Greg accepted it and examined the label.

“No, he’s got plenty.” Greg handed it back. Mycroft glanced over at his partner. Their eyes met and Mycroft gave a brief nod before looking away.

The nurse looked back at Mycroft, who had finished with his tie. Somehow without a mirror he managed to look nearly impeccable. He gave her a polite smile. “Thank you for your assistance. I believe I am ready to leave.”

“Certainly, let me guide you out.”

The car ride home was quiet. Neither man spoke. Greg didn’t turn on the radio as he might have normally. Mycroft seemed to be in his own world. Pulling up to their home, Greg noticed the gate was broken. He stole a glance at Mycroft, who stared unseeing out the windshield.

“Was the gate broken before you left?” Greg asked.

“Yes, Sherlock and John chose to play a prank,” Mycroft answered tonelessly. “It seems they thought it would be the only way to get me to speak of Eurus.” Mycroft shivered visibly and Greg momentarily envisioned his fist connecting with John’s jaw followed by a punch to Sherlock’s gut.

Greg parked the car and moved to exit the vehicle. Mycroft’s hand suddenly gripped his jacket sleeve. He turned to find the elder Holmes staring intently at him. “I wanted to tell you. It’s not that I didn’t trust you. Truly. But I had no idea how to tell you.” Greg stayed quiet, waiting for more. “How does one tell your partner, ‘I’ve an insane, homicidal sister that my brother doesn’t remember and my parents won’t speak of. Oh and by the way, she is locked in the securest prison in the country’?”

“Like that I imagine,” Greg responded seriously.

Mycroft looked stricken, then nodded and sat back, closing his eyes. “My parents do not know,” he said softly.

“That Eurus escaped?”

“That Eurus is even alive.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Greg couldn’t believe this. “They don’t know she is alive?” Mycroft leaned forward in his seat, straining against the seat belt. He pressed his hands to his face. It was Greg’s turn to stare out the windshield. His mind scrambled to process this new information. Moving the car out of park he pulled away from the house.

After a few minutes of driving Mycroft looked up. “Where are we going?” he asked dully.

“Diogenes. We need a drink and long talk. You need to feel safe and comfortable if that is going to happen.” Mycroft sniffed and Greg glanced side long to see the man brush at his eyes. The older man risked a brief caress of his partner’s wet cheek. “It’ll be okay love.”

Once they were safely tucked into one of the private rooms, where they could speak freely, Greg ordered a tea trolley and a bottle of scotch. He could see visible improvement in Mycroft as the younger man absorbed the familiar sounds (or lack thereof), sights and smells. This was Mycroft’s domain and it was untouched by Eurus. He’d shed his jacket and loosened his tie. Some of the tension had left his body, but his expression was solemn and melancholy. Standing at the window, he stared out toward Picadilly Circus.

Greg poured them both drinks and joined Mycroft at the window. Gently he nudged his partner’s shoulder with his own and offered a glass. Mycroft looked away from the view and accepted the beverage with murmured thanks. He sipped the scotch and, finally, squared his shoulders. 

“Thank you, Gregory, for thinking of coming here.”

Greg nodded. “Are you ready to tell me about Eurus?”

Mycroft turned away from the window and faced the older man. “Yes.”

“Everything?” Greg wanted to be clear.

Mycroft took another swig of the liquid courage. “Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many spoilers. Seriously I don't think you want to read this until after seeing all of season 4.

Greg sat watching the sky lighten as dawn broke over the city. He needed the loo, but he was loath to move. Mycroft was asleep with his head pillowed in Greg’s lap. The elder Holmes had talked long into the night, fueled by scotch, tea and sandwiches, and Greg had listened. 

Greg had asked him to start at the beginning. As such Greg heard about the honey, the seashore, the skipping stones, the grave stones. Greg smiled listening to Mycroft describe a seemingly idyllic childhood. Some of this he had heard before, but this time Eurus was included.

Then he heard about the pirates—Yellowbeard and Redbeard, the Musgrave ritual, the pictures, the fire. Greg’s smile faded and he listened to Mycroft’s voice falter as he described the tragedy, Sherlock’s trauma and finally the destruction of the beloved family home. Eurus was taken away and Sherlock became the center of his parent’s universe, leaving Mycroft frightened and alone.

Next came Uncle Rudy, another fire, the dreadful lie, Sherrinford and treats. Grateful for any adult attention, Mycroft felt privileged to be party to Uncle Rudy’s secret plans and promised to keep them secret always. Mycroft related how Uncle Rudy groomed him for his career, steered him toward the correct classes and introduced to the right people. Greg felt pity as he realized Mycroft had been manipulated into keeping Eurus a secret and then manipulated into being her keeper by the one adult who paid young Mycroft any mind.

“He said it was a kindness to let Mummy and Father believe she was dead.” Mycroft explained. Greg could see adult Mycroft still thought this to be true. “Sherlock had deleted her and Victor. There was no possible way to speak of her as it was.”

They had finally settled on the sofa in the room. Mycroft had crept closer and closer to Greg as he told the horrible story. Greg reached out and took his partner’s hand. “I don’t think your parents will view it as a ‘kindness’ to have been told their daughter is dead, when she is still very much alive.” He kept his tone mild. “I know I wouldn’t.”

“Your daughters are wonderful, young women with promise. My sister is a manipulative, psychopath with no moral code. Her only promise is to kill again.” Mycroft countered.

Greg sighed. “Love doesn’t work that way.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Look, you love Sherlock and he is an ill-mannered, sociopath with practically no moral code.”

“Yes, but he is my brother. We have shared experiences and understand each other as no one else can.”

“And Eurus is their daughter. They have shared experiences with her and have nurtured her. You have shared experiences with your sister as well; you still care for her.”

“Only as far as duty requires.” Mycroft responded primly.

“No, My. You gave her treats.” Greg tried to be gentle in his reply.

“As rewards for being helpful. Uncle Rudy began the policy.”

Greg decided to let it go for now. “How did Eurus get out?”

Mycroft looked down at their hands. “Treats,” he said heavily. Mycroft resumed the tale as best he knew. Sherlock had not shared much about his night with Eurus and their meal of chips.

“She put him on to Culverton Smith?”

“I said she could be helpful.”

John had spoken more about his experiences with her as a therapist.

“Shit! He liked her and thought she was helping.”

“As I said.”

“Christ almighty.” Greg shook his head. “Go on.”

Mycroft described the events of Sherlock and John breaking into his and Greg’s home the evening Greg had left for his conference. Greg was sympathetic, though secretly pleased those portraits would have to come down for cleaning. Perhaps he could stop them from ever going back up.

“I apologize for telling Sherlock about watching ‘It’ with you,” Greg offered as he squeezed Mycroft’s hand.1

“I was displeased when I realized later how he must have known about the clowns.”

“So you went to Baker Street in the morning…”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes and things proceeded very rapidly from there.” He related his visit, minimizing Mrs. Hudson’s rudeness. He knew the DI thought well of her. Greg gaped as Mycroft described the patience grenade and their escape, along with his rescue of Mrs. Hudson.

“And you weren’t injured?” Greg was amazed.

“I managed to protect my face and hands, but my back is blistered and my ears still ring a bit.”

“Oh, My,” Greg breathed. He nodded for the elder Holmes to continue. He did not interrupt again as the rest of the tale unfolded. Mycroft stopped at the point he, Sherlock and John were tranquilized as Sherlock refused to continue to play her game. He set aside the panic he felt at the thought of Mycroft trying to goad Sherlock into killing him. 

“So at this point Sherlock still didn’t know that Redbeard was Victor?”

“No,” Mycroft looked hard at Greg. “Does he know now?”

“Ah… Yes.” Greg took a moment to explain how he had received several urgent messages from Sherlock and the local authorities while at the conference. He left the meetings as soon as he was able and joined Sherlock and John in time to supervise Eurus’s return to Sherrinford.

Mycroft sighed. “I seem to have so many difficult conversations ahead of me.”

“Let’s finish this one before we worry about the next one.”

Mycroft nodded, looking pensive and sad. “Quite.” He then explained the ‘treats’ offered Eurus, including Moriarty. Greg forbore to remark on that, to Mycroft’s relief. He reported his failure to monitor the Sherrinford staff properly, his failure to predict Eurus’s behavior, his failure to protect Sherlock and John, his failure to save lives, his failure…

“Stop.” Greg laid his fingers on Mycroft’s mouth stilling the torrent of self-recriminations. He cupped the other man’s cheek feeling the stubble scratch his palm. Mycroft closed his eyes and exhaled, pressing his face against Greg’s hand. The older man leaned in and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his partner’s mouth. They drew apart slowly and Mycroft rested against Greg. 

They were quiet and Mycroft bit his lip. “There is more I must tell you.”

“Alright.” Greg waited.

Mycroft took a breath. “You are my best friend. You are my lover and you’re my best friend.”

“You’re in my soul,” whispered Greg.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. It’s a song.” Mycroft sat up and looked quizzically at Greg. “I interrupted.”2

Mycroft nodded and laid his head back on Greg’s shoulder. “I never had a best friend. I thought it would be difficult and painful and embarrassing to tell you all of this.” He paused. “It wasn’t any of those things. It was… cathartic.” Mycroft stopped and seemed lost in thought. He yawned. “I didn’t realize…” His voice had gotten muzzy and soft. “I understand now why Sherlock wanted… John… family.” 

Within a few minutes Greg heard Mycroft’s breathing become slow and then… a familiar soft snore. He gently eased the younger man’s head down to his lap. Mumbling, Mycroft shifted and pulled his legs up on the couch. Greg carded his fingers through the exhausted man’s hair feeling the soft strands become coarse and brittle as he reached the singed ends.

There were only a few hours until dawn. Greg dozed lightly, but mostly he watched Mycroft sleep and thought. He wasn’t angry anymore. What was there to be angry about? Mycroft kept this secret from practically everyone, including those with more right to know than Greg. It was certain Mycroft was paying the price for this and would likely continue to pay the price for sometime. It hadn’t started as his secret. Uncle Rudy, long dead, wasn’t around to take his share of the blame.

Greg gazed down at the man fast asleep in his lap. Now he just felt sad. Sad Mycroft had gone through such an ordeal. Sad he had to keep such a terrible secret. Sad the secret would surely affect Mycroft’s relationship to Sherlock and his parents. Sad for the loss of trust he had in his partner. Mycroft stirred and sat up rubbing his face. 

“Good morning…” Greg started. Mycroft blinked owlishly at his partner, took a breath and turned away sneezing as he was wont to do in the morning. “And God bless you.” Greg finished.

“Apologies.” Mycroft fished out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

Greg rolled his eyes. “For what? Having a nose?” He leaned over and kissed said appendage. 

“You are ridiculous.” Mycroft wiped his nose again.

“And you love it.” Greg teased. It was a familiar routine.

“Yes, I do.” Mycroft said seriously, breaking the rhythm. He looked down at his handkerchief and folded it carefully. “I know I have no right to ask this, but… Please, will you forgive me? I do not think I can bear to lose you now that I finally comprehend your worth.” He lifted his gaze hopefully to Greg. The older man looked away and out the window at the new day. Silence stretched and Mycroft sighed. “Apologies. I see I have asked for too much.” His tone became frosty and impersonal. He stood and, wincing, moved to collect his jacket.

“My, sit back down.” Greg turned back. His dark eyes were bright with emotion.

“No, I must freshen up and then see if I can salvage my career.” With  
a grunt he donned his jacket.

“My…”

“I imagine you have matters to attend to as well.” He straightened his cuffs as he spoke.

“Mycroft, shut up.” Greg stood and faced the other man who tried to appear cool, controlled and reserved. The effect spoiled by the rumpled suit and mussed hair, not to mention the flickers of anxiety in his icy blue eyes. 

Mycroft opened his mouth, and then closed it.

“Forgive you? I forgave you the minute I laid eyes on you.” Greg shrugged. “I can’t help it. I love you. And it is in my nature, I guess. I forgave my cheating wife too many times to count.” Mycroft bowed his head at the mention of Greg’s ex-wife. “So it’s not about forgiving you, is it?”

“No, I suppose not.” Mycroft murmured.

Greg moved closer to the other man and lifted Mycroft’s chin, gently running his thumb along the jawline. “It’s about trusting you again.”

“I’ll understand if you cannot,” Mycroft managed to choke out.

Greg smiled slightly and the sight of it gave a bit of hope to the elder Holmes. “You said something last night. Do you remember?”

“I remember everything I said last night.”

“What do you think was most important?”

Mycroft didn’t have to think long. “You are my best friend.”

“That meant more to me than all the ‘I love you’s and ‘please forgive me’s you could have ever said.”

“Oh.”

Greg now held Mycroft’s face in both hands. “You have obviously finally learned to trust me. It may take a little time, but I am willing to learn to trust you again.” Greg kissed his partner tenderly. As the kiss ended Greg said reassuringly, “We’ll be okay love.”

 

FIN

1 “It” is a Stephen King novel that was made into a two-part TV drama featuring Pennywise, the clown.

2 Greg is referring to Rod Stewart’s “You’re In My Heart”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's how it happened in my 'verse. I only have happy endings for my boys. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> In my head Greg and Mycroft became a couple after The Hound of The Baskervilles. So they have weathered the "death" of Sherlock. (Long story short, Greg knew Sherlock was still alive.) I believe Greg was some what mentally prepared to have to deal with another crazy secret.


End file.
